My writers group is made up of eclectic individuals, all coming from diverse backgrounds. Some are experienced in the publishing game, and for some – like me, the youngest member – this is the very first time to see our name in print. The Anthology comprises four categories of emotion-packed stories: On the Island, On the Road, Off the Road and Inner Journeys… To learn more, visit our Amazon page (click-able link above)!

Once the veil was lifted our fellowship began and, as I got to know the many facets of fear, I developed the ability to see it in others. In time, I came to peace with fright emerging in my stomach in the face of unknown. I recognized that it was a trademark of being human rather than what derived from the experience: fear keeps us moving forward.

Without freezing when my own anxiety draws closer to greet me, a sense of identity emerged and I discovered that I am amongst those who will never quite know who they are.

Some of us have anchored characters and some, like me, act as chameleons of experience. Still, every now and again I like to take a peek over my fence.

Just like existence itself, words and descriptions are elusive by nature. To be who we are and then let go, to float between immersing in it all and hiding from it all and back again, is an affair as real as it is invisible.

I saw it in a dark, dusty corner of a large hardware store filled with clutter and immediately was drawn into its world. This, for me, was common. Flower vases tell me stories that go far beyond their obvious purpose or the way they look. This one, in particular, was a factory produced squat wobbly shaped brown vase with abstract white drawings. But in spite of its commonness, my ears were in tune with the language it spoke.

I heard the story of a supporting actress, crucial to the plot yet always in someone’s shadow – a permanent bridesmaid to ever-changing brides, her appearance toned down even when glorious. As I listened to tales of loyalty and compassion, her tone rang of calmness. She knew she would once quietly fulfill her destiny nurturing others and witnessing many a spotlight.

Much about the character of reality escapes me. But carrying the bag in which she rested wrapped up in gravelly paper, I have never been more certain about being that vase myself.

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That thin threadbetween growing, and remaininglearning, and letting godreaming, and facingcontaining, and denyingbelieving, and releasingremembering, and clingingunderstanding, and not knowingexisting, and laboringno one can seeor hold on to.But within its elusive frameis all vitality of a life.